


Your First-Born Child

by Fire_Bear



Series: FrUK Spring Festival 2k16 [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fairy Tale Retellings, FrUK Spring Festival 2k16, Locked In, M/M, Mpreg, day2, magical mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6824923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Francis's father got him into quite the predicament. He had no-one to turn to bar the stranger who appeared and offered to help - for a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your First-Born Child

**Author's Note:**

> Holy moley. This took longer than I thought it would to write. Fairy tales are long. 
> 
> I tried to write it in the style of a fairy tale, just so’s you know.

Once upon a time, there was a king as vast and broad as his kingdom. He was also known for being as ruthless in his punishments as the winter in the north of his land. Despite being fair, his subjects feared him but none as much as his nobles. Those that protested anything he liked, such as taking two wives and fathering a large brood of children, were humiliated and cast out from the palace.

One day, when the nobles were gathered for a feast, the king turned to the nearest lord and asked him how his son was faring. Of course, the lord lied and said that his son was the strongest in the land, willing to serve his king when the time was right. The rest of the nobles protested and began to tell tall tales about their sons' and daughters' deeds.

“My daughter is more beautiful than the queen of the fairies.”

“ _My_ son outwitted the sphinx.”

“My daughter can spin twice as fast as any woman in the kingdom.”

“My youngest son can spin straw into gold!” declared the poorest man at the table, a merchant who travelled to all the points of the kingdom and had a son in each district. Within the capital city limits was his youngest child, fair of hair and charming of smile. It had, of course, been an empty declaration but the king heard it and raised a hand to cease the conversation. The merchant gulped and waited to hear what the king had to say.

“That sounds interesting. Yet you are the poorest. Why do you not have more money?”

“Er, well,” said the man, running a hand through his dark, curly hair. “He is not too fond of the practice as it takes him a long time.”

“How long?”

“A... A night?” the man said, hesitantly.

“Oh!” cried the king, leaning forward. “I would very much like to meet him. Tomorrow, would be best.”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty,” said the man, his heart sinking as he realised the predicament he had gotten himself and his family into.

Later that night, he returned home, the wine he had consumed bolstering his spirits till he reached his modest house. Inside, his son was waiting for him, worried for his father's safety when he had drunk so much. At the sight of the young man's smile, the merchant broke down and sobbed. His son hurried to him, holding him in his arms.

“Whatever is the matter?” he inquired, sounding confused.

The merchant explained what he had done and his son was shocked, understandably. Wailing and clinging to him, the merchant apologised. “I do not know what he will do to you when he meets you!”

“As long as he does not ask me to do this impossible task, all will be well. I do not want to mar my hands by doing such a task.” And, sure enough, his hands were smooth and pretty.

There was nothing to be done and, the next day, the merchant and his son arrived at the palace. The king greeted them in the throne room where the merchant dropped to a knee. His son began to copy him when the king held up a hand and he froze, managing to bow his head a little instead.

“What is your name, golden man?” asked the king, referring to the man's golden hair and his golden skill.

“Francis,” answered the man.

“Well, Francis,” said the king, obviously savouring the name on his tongue, “I want you to show me your skill. I will give you tonight to spin a hundred gold pieces.”

“A hun- Your Majesty, that is-”

“Bring in the loom!” the king called, ignoring Francis's protests. Francis stared as a loom was brought in, along with two bundles of straw. “Will this be enough for your trick?” asked the king and Francis realised he was staring at him intently.

While Francis may not have been able to spin straw into gold, he did have a quick mind, often beating his peers in games of chess. So the young man quickly realised that his father would be killed if he admitted that he could not do it. With everyone watching, the same thing could happen or Francis would be killed instead. If he could attempt the task in private, perhaps he would be able to work out how to do it and his father could leave, out of harm's way. So he spoke up and quickly asked for more straw and a private room so he could concentrate. The king relented and sent him to a tower where he was locked in, allowed one final goodbye from his father before the man fled, leaving Francis to face his fate alone.

So Francis approached the loom for the first time in his life and, after a few false starts, started to spin the straw. No gold was produced, however, and, after an hour of attempts, he had to stop. His fingers were sore and were covered in cuts. Saddened at his predicament, he buried his head in his hands and sobbed.

“Whyever are you crying, young man?” said a voice and Francis looked up in shock, wondering if the night had passed without his noticing.

Leaning against the windowsill was a shorter man, arms folded across his chest. He had messy blond hair and green eyes that glowed in the dark. His garb was simple; Francis would have thought him a peasant if he hadn't appeared in a tower with no easy access. As Francis took in his appearance, he noted that the man was smirking at him and he frowned at the apparition.

“I am crying because I have to spin all this straw into gold.”

“And why is that a reason to cry?” the man asked, nonchalantly.

“Because I cannot do that!” Francis snapped, taking his frustration out on the man.

“You cannot? Well, are you not useless, then?”

“How dare-?!” Francis began but stopped as the man suddenly moved, approaching the loom at speed.

“This is a very easy task for me.”

“There is no need to gloat,” Francis told him with a huff of displeasure.

“I am not gloating. I am telling you a fact. I shall do this for you in return for a reward.”

Francis blinked at him and stared until the realisation that his salvation was at hand hit him. “What sort of reward?” he asked, hurriedly.

For a moment, the man surveyed him. “That necklace of yours is pretty. I want that.”

That caused Francis to pause, for the necklace had been his mother's, the only thing he had left of hers. But, if he didn't give it to him, he may not own it for much longer if the king took out his anger on him. “All... All right,” Francis said and slowly took the silver necklace from his neck. He gazed at the floral pendant for a moment before the man took it from him. After the man had pulled it over his own head, he waved his hands at Francis.

“Good, now move. Go sleep,” he added, gesturing towards the bed in the corner of the room.

Francis obeyed and, exhausted from the trials of the day, he quickly fell asleep. When he awoke a few hours later, just before dawn, he was surprised to find that the straw was gone. The sunrise glinted off a pile of golden coins instead. The man was just rising from his place, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Oh, thank you,” said Francis, sighing with relief.

“Yes, yes,” said the man dismissively. “Now, do try not to do something stupid again.”

With that, the man disappeared, leaving Francis too shocked to move until the door was opened by the king and an entourage of guards. The king was both surprised and pleased to see that Francis had done what he asked for. He inspected the gold and turned to Francis.

“I am impressed. I did not think you were capable. What trick did you use?”

Thinking quickly, Francis said, “I used no trick. I did it all myself.”

Unfortunately, the lie was his undoing. “Good,” said the king. “If that is the case I wish for _two_ hundred gold pieces tonight.”

“Two- But, Your-”

“I shall leave you alone now,” the king interjected. “After all, you will need more time, yes?”

Francis could do nothing but agree. The king and his entourage left and some servants returned a short while later with even more straw. He was left to his own devices except for some meals and he could do nothing but attempt what the strange man had done the night before. But he spent hours attempting the task and, by the time night fell, he had accomplished nothing. Once again, he put his head in his hands and began to cry.

“Crying again? Honestly. You are such a crybaby.”

Looking up, Francis found the same man watching him. “Y-You-!”

“Yes, me. Now, you know the score. I can do what has been asked of you. But I require a reward.”

“I have nothing else to give you!” Francis cried, despairing for himself.

“Hm,” said the man, eyeing Francis for a moment. Then he stepped closer, only stopping when he was nose-to-nose with Francis. “I shall take your first kiss, then.”

Gasping, Francis gaped at him. “How do you know I have never kissed anyone?”

“Never you mind,” the man replied, his eyes glowing brighter. “Let me kiss you and you will have your two hundred coins.”

“I...” Francis considered the request. What could be so bad about kissing the man in exchange for his life? So he nodded. “Yes. I... will.”

“Good,” said the man and he cupped Francis's face. He pressed their lips together and licked at Francis's lips until the young man opened his mouth. Then he pressed his tongue in and Francis moaned, overwhelmed at the sensation. It was at that point that the man pulled away: Francis chased him for a second, eyes closed in bliss, until he realised what he was doing. “Now move. Go sleep,” said the man.

Again, Francis obeyed and woke the next morning to the two hundred gold coins. “Oh, thank you,” said Francis, sighing with relief.

“Yes, yes,” said the man dismissively as he rose from his place. “Now, do try not to do something stupid again.”

This time, the man disappeared just in time as the door swung open and the king strode in. Again, he was surprised. “I am even more impressed. However... Perhaps these were flukes. I will post more guards and, this time, I want a thousand gold coins.”

“A _thousand_?!” Francis exclaimed. “But, Your Majesty, that is-!”

“Do you defy me?” the king asked, his tone icy.

“N-No...”

“If you manage this,” the king continued, “I will instate you in my court. Perhaps I will even marry you.”

The king's advisor gasped and stepped forward at that. “Your Majesty, I do not think that is wise-”

“Silence,” said the king. “This I will do to reward you for your services.”

And, with that, he swept from the room and Francis knew he had no choice. Again, the servants brought more straw. Again, he attempted the task. Again, he was left in tears as he had no hope of doing it and, even if the man came, he had but only one thing he could think to give him.

However, this time, the man came just before sunset, appearing after Francis had finished crying. He looked Francis over and sighed. “Crying again, hm? You really should stop – it is marring your features.”

“You would be crying, too, if your life hinged on whether you can create gold from nothing.”

“Not from nothing – from straw. It is very simple. Move and I shall do it again.”

“What will you take from me this time? I have nothing to give,” said Francis, refusing to budge.

The man rolled his eyes. “Nothing you can give me now.”

“What do you mean?”

Smiling wickedly, the man advanced on Francis. “This time, I want you to promise to hand me your first-born child. Do not worry – you will definitely have one, at the very least.”

Francis opened his mouth to ask, to protest but found himself pausing. The man seemed so sure but if he was to marry the king then there would be no way for him to get a girl pregnant. He could promise the child freely and he would never have to give them away. “Fine. Please help me.”

“Good, now move. Go sleep,” said the man.

So Francis went to bed and woke once again to a pile of gold. This time, the man was not finished, the last of the straw still present. Slowly, carefully, so as not to distract the man, Francis sat up and watched him work, his deft fingers flitting over the loom as the straw passed through it and came out the other end as gold coins. It was mesmerising and it took Francis several moments to remember to breathe. Just as he took a deep breath, the last of the straw passed through and the man stopped, dropping the last coin onto the pile.

“I must go,” the man said as there came noises beyond the door. “I will return for the child.” And, with that, he disappeared.

When the king swept in, Francis was quick to stand and watch him marvel at the pile of gold. Then he turned to Francis and pulled him close, something the young man was uncomfortable with but could do nothing about without offending him. The king turned to his advisor and declared, “I will marry this man. See to it.”

Although Francis was dismayed at this, he could not protest, forced to go along with the wedding plans. The kingdom was wary of this development but, when those who came to the wedding met Francis, their concerns were eased as they all loved the new Queen, as he was now called. A couple of older men protested vehemently to the king: Francis didn't get the chance to greet them and never saw them again.

Most of the people who greeted them on their wedding day said that Francis was lucky to be chosen by the king. He was too afraid to tell them that he feared the nights he was required in the king's bed, more so after the wedding. Of course, he tried not to let this show as, in the excitement of the wedding and the intimacy of the bed, the king seemed to have forgotten the trick of spinning straw into gold.

Then the worst possible thing happened, a few days after the wedding. The king summoned Francis to the throne room and introduced him to Lukas, a pale man with disinterested eyes. “This man will help us to have a child,” the king told Francis.

“What? But Your Majesty-!”

“I have told you to call me Ivan,” said the king. “And I wish to see you with child. I always get my way. Lukas shall cast the spell and you will become pregnant.” He turned to the stranger. “But I want you to put the spell on him twice so it is twice as strong and there is more chance of a child.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the man and, before Francis could so much as open his mouth to protest further, the spell was cast – twice – and Francis's fate was sealed. “Be warned,” the mystery man said as he turned to leave. “He will only be able to give birth once. Anything more and he will die.”

Chuckling, the king pulled Francis close. “Do not worry. As long as he gives me a daughter, I will be happy.”

So Francis was taken to the king's bed and given regular examinations by the palace's doctors. The king was relentless and, more often than not, Francis was unable to leave their bed. In the meantime, the king's previous wives became jealous and his life in the palace grew unbearable. It was almost with relief that he accepted the news that he was pregnant and that the king would kill anyone who interfered with Francis's pregnancy.

However, Francis grew worried as he grew in size. If he were to give birth to a son, what would the king do? He had specifically requested a daughter. Would he force Francis to become pregnant again? Francis wouldn't survive and who knew what would happen to his first-born child.

When Francis thought this, he remembered the man who had helped him and his request. He wondered if the king would be angry with the man and if he would try to kill him. Something in Francis didn't want the man to die so he began to twist the king around his finger, making sure the king knew that the troubles at the border worried Francis, for himself and their unborn child. With relief, he waved the king off as he left on a months-long war, absent for the last few months of the difficult pregnancy as well as the birth.

There was a surprise that day as Francis screamed and panted. He gave birth to not one but two babies. Unfortunately, neither of them were girls and Francis sobbed as he clutched them to his chest. But he had to put on his charming smile and let well-wishers come to see them as the advisor suggested. Francis was proud of both of them but he refused to let anybody touch them in case their envy tempted them to kill either of them. At the first opportunity, he chased them away, only able to relax when he was alone in the nursery.

“Well, you make a protective mother,” said a voice behind him while he looked in on his children. “Who would have thought it?”

Francis spun around, his loose robes swirling around him as he looked about in alarm. There, by the window, stood the man, exactly as he remembered him with his glowing green eyes and his amused smile. Instinctively, Francis stepped between the man and the twins, frowning at the mysterious person. “I expected you a week ago,” Francis told him, trying to sound haughty and assured.

The man merely laughed. “I thought I should make sure neither of them would die.” Without an invitation, the man drew near and dodged around Francis to stare into the cradle. “They are both beautiful. You must be proud.”

“Leave them alone!” Francis cried, grabbing hold of the man's elbow and trying to pull him away. However, the man resisted and only turned stern eyes on the Queen.

“I have come to collect my debt.” He turned back to the cradle, leaned in and stroked the cheek of the eldest. “He looks strong,” the man murmured, smiling fondly.

But Francis was not about to lose his children to this man. He refused to give them up for anything less than his own death. So he shoved the man and he stumbled away, surprised. “I will not let you take him,” Francis declared. “I can give you something else – I am a Queen now so I have many things.”

A few feet away, the man's genial expression disappeared and his face became thunderous. “We made a deal, Queen Francis. I do not take my deals being broken lightly. With a click of my fingers, I can take _both_ your children so do not test me!”

“No, please!” cried Francis. “Please, there must be something I can do, other than this!”

The man took a breath and considered the options. “It will take some time for the news to filter to the borders and the king will return. You hold sway over the court for now so use it wisely for I will give you one chance to keep your children and your life here. Three chances will I give you to guess my name and, if you do not, I shall take the eldest. If you cross me, I shall take both. Should you, by some chance, guess it right, you will never see me again.”

Before Francis could protest or negotiate better terms, the man disappeared. The Queen fell to his knees beside the cradle and hugged his children to his chest, dismayed and frightened for them.

However, he did not mope for long as he had been given a chance and he would not let it slip through his fingers. He called upon the members of court and the servants within the palace and asked for male names. They obediently did so and, soon, he had a large list.

A week passed and the man returned, this time in the throne room where the Queen was pondering the puzzle. Francis started and his eyes were drawn to the cradles at his side. “Good evening,” he said to the man. “May I offer you some wine?”

Snorting, the man shook his head. “I am here for but one thing. Give me your first guess and I shall be on my way – I _do_ have other things to be doing, you know.”

“Then, is it...” Francis trailed off and then picked the name he had given his eldest son. “Alfred?”

“No,” said the man, shortly, and disappeared.

Worried, Francis summoned the people of the city and nearby villages, asking for more names. For some reason, people decided that the more unusual names were better for the task and Francis soon had a long list of strange ones. Choosing just one, however, was more difficult and he was still perusing the list when the man returned.

“Would you like a pastry I made myself?” Francis asked, trying to stall him.

Surprisingly, the man looked tempted but he shook his head and took a step back. Francis resisted the urge to smirk as the man said, “I am here for but one thing. Give me your second guess and I shall be on my way – I _do_ have other things to be doing, you know.”

“Then, is it...” Francis glanced down at the scroll and picked the first name he saw. “Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Of course not,” said the man, shortly, and disappeared.

Thrown into despair, Francis sent out guards far and wide to see if they could find the man. Perhaps, caught off guard, he would reveal his name. However, the guards who returned were unsuccessful and Francis began to fear for his child. Two days before the deadline, though, he was surprised by a visitor who marched up to the gates, grinned toothily at the guards and demanded to be let in to see Francis. They let him only after he explained that he could help their Queen and they escorted him to the throne room. There, he presented Francis with a mirror.

“I know who it is you seek,” he said, his red eyes flashing with some emotion, perhaps amusement. “However, I am bound by an oath and cannot tell you his name. But this mirror will let you see far and wide if only you put your mind to it. Look for your man and you will find your salvation.” He handed the mirror over and, before he disappeared in a puff of smoke, the stranger added, “Just do not tell him I gave you this or he will kill me.”

Understandably, Francis was shocked. But the gift was not to be taken for granted and so, that night, once he had dismissed his servants, he took out the mirror and stared at it. He wasn't sure how to use it but he thought of those glowing eyes and that smug smirk and, suddenly, he could see the man instead of his reflection. The man was talking with Lukas, the man who had helped Francis get pregnant. Naturally, Francis was shocked that they knew each other but he couldn't be alarmed for long as the pair were talking and, somehow, he could hear them clearly. And, when he heard the man's name, he smiled: the name suited him somehow and Francis had to whisper it to himself.

He put the mirror down and looked over at his children. When the man turned up again, he would have to be ready. But what would happen afterwards? The king would be home soon and would see that he had borne sons instead of daughters. What could he do? He spent the rest of the allotted time thinking on how to save his family.

Finally, the night came when the man returned. Francis was in the nursery with his sons, looking down at them fondly. Behind him came the sound of a throat clearing and he turned, significantly more calmly than his last few encounters with the mysterious man. He looked wary, obviously put off by Francis's calm smile.

“Tonight is the last night,” he told Francis. “What is your guess?”

“Arthur,” said Francis without preamble.

The magical man's eyes widened, the glow intensifying in the dull room. He gaped at Francis, unable to speak. Then, suddenly, he stamped his foot, the floor shaking. “Dammit!” he cried. “How did you find out?!” He stamped his foot again and Francis saw a crack appear in the floor, obviously straining under the power Arthur was using. Quickly, he stepped forward, hands raised.

“Wait,” he said. “I shall give you Alfred if you also take his brother. And me.”

Freezing, Arthur raised his confused gaze to Francis. “What are you talking about?”

“You seem lonely. That is why you want to take Alfred, is it not?”

“Tsk! Do not presume to know me, _Queen_!”

“Please do not call me that,” pleaded Francis. “I do not want to be married to that man or reminded of him. Please, take me away from here.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you came for me, before.”

Arthur considered this, warily looking Francis up and down. “Who says I came for _you_? I was merely passing-”

“You came three nights in a row,” Francis interjected, rolling his eyes. “Will you not admit that you were concerned about me?”

“No,” answered Arthur. “I am not concerned. If I was, I would have taken you from that place.”

“You were respecting my wishes,” said Francis, softly. “You did not take my first kiss without my permission nor did you take my son when you should have, as per the deal. Am I wrong?”

At that, Arthur looked away from Francis. “No,” he said with a sigh. “You had caught my eye before and I had been watching you...”

“With magic?”

“Of course.” Arthur paused and looked back at Francis. “Do you really want to come with me? Or are you using me as an escape?”

“My dear Arthur,” said Francis, his smile growing. “I have not stopped thinking about you since that first kiss.”

That was the correct thing to say for Arthur stepped forward, grabbed the front of Francis's robes and pulled him into another kiss. It was one more passionate than any Francis had ever received. By the time they pulled apart for breath neither them nor the two babies were in the nursery, all of them elsewhere and _safe_.

And, when the king returned, the kingdom had never seen such wrath. A search was undertaken for the Queen and the princes but none of them were ever found. And Francis, Arthur and their twin sons lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> The magic that three guys used is wibbly wobbly which is why they know some things in the future and not others. It's kinda complicated.
> 
> Romania's name is unknown by everyone bar Arthur and Lukas and no-one really knows about him. Because some eejit told Ivan Lukas's name, he gets summoned to him all the time and he can't resist. Arthur's well-known in the kingdom but no-one knew his name till Francis.


End file.
